


Treasures

by wanderingscholarlad



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, slow dancing in the kitchen while it rains, tender domesticity, thats it, thats the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:13:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26040025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingscholarlad/pseuds/wanderingscholarlad
Summary: Joe is only half awake and it's far too early to be thinking about such weighty things. But he’d seen his hands on Nicky’s arms, rings warm from the heat of their bodies, and on the floor beyond them, Nicky’s treasured hoodie, and he had wondered what Nile would grow to treasure and cling to over her many lifetimes.Basically, it's a perfect rainy morning and these two nerds are ridiculously in love.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 36
Kudos: 354





	Treasures

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in like four years so I am not entirely sure what I'm doing but I've apparently killed too many people in the discord server with tender domesticity that I figured I'd share? 
> 
> Also huge thank you to the Primodonnas for cheerleading and talking me through how to use tags - y'all are the best

They try not to be sentimental about material possessions - especially not clothes - they really do. But at the end of the day, they’re only human and there’s things that they cling to. 

For Andy, it’s Quynh’s necklace, a tangible reminder that Quynh existed and loved her. A reminder that she did not walk this earth alone for all those years. She was known and she was loved. When days are particularly long, she’ll hold the pendant against her mouth and press her eyes shut and try desperately to remember holding Quynh’s hands against her lips. If she tries hard enough she can just about recall kissing the archer’s calluses on her beloved hands. No matter where in the world they are, or what they are doing, Andy will always carry Quynh with her.

For Booker, it’s beautiful books. It’s half of why he got his nickname - he’s unable to walk past a nice bookshop without being drawn in and something about the written word has always entranced him. He used to use perfectly forged francs as a means to buy and voraciously read, even when bread was in short supply. Today, the oldest books he owns predate him, and they’re a constant reminder that things can grow old without losing their meaning or their purpose. His favourites remain precious and touching even as the centuries turn. Some of them, he can hold and be instantly transported back in time, the memories of reading allowed to his family after dinner still so raw and real.

For Joe, it’s his rings. They are almost as old as he is and he’s had them remade a few times over the centuries, but at their core they are still the same – just like him. They are the rings of Yusuf al Kaysani, warrior, poet, merchant. But also the rings of Joseph Jones, warrior, poet, mercenary. He likes beautiful things, just look at his Nicolo. The rings are beautiful, yes, but they are also a solid weight and a reminder of who he is, and he rarely takes them off.

For Nicky, there isn’t a particular thing he’s kept, rather a kind of thing. In the early days, it was a woollen shawl, brought all the way from Genoa and incredibly impractical for the hot days in the desserts. In the middle years, he favoured a heavy coat. These days, it’s a well-worn hoodie. One that was originally red, but has faded from years of washing and being shoved into every bug out bag Nicky has owned. There’s been a few red hoodies now and it isn’t the original red hoodie that’s on the floor next to their bed in the safe house just outside Amsterdam, but it may as well be. It’s a soft pinkish colour now, and the cuffs are threadbare from being shoved up his arms absentmindedly. 

Joe is only half awake and it's far too early to be thinking about such weighty things. But he’d seen his hands on Nicky’s arms, rings warm from the heat of their bodies, and on the floor beyond them, Nicky’s treasured hoodie, and he had wondered what Nile would grow to treasure and cling to over her many lifetimes. It had prompted reflection that he wasn’t necessarily ready for. So, he presses a kiss to Nicky’s shoulder and carefully untangles himself to go in search of coffee. He’ll let Nicky sleep a while longer. 

It’s raining when he gets into the kitchen, turning on the lights and pausing to look at the blurred windows. It so often is in the Netherlands. The soft sound of the rain against the road sits with Joe as he waits for the coffee to brew, content just to lean against the counter and not think too much about anything. He hears soft footsteps and smiles to himself, Nicolo is no mouse, but he certainly walks like one. 

Warm arms slip around his waist and Nicky drops his forehead against Joe’s shoulder.

“It’s cold without you in bed,” he murmurs and Joe brings his arms up to hold Nicky’s.

“So you decided to come find me?”  
“Always.”

Joe pulls away for just a moment, and Nicky makes a soft displeased sound. It’s alright though, because Joe is only reaching for the radio, turning it on low and letting soft jazz fill the kitchen. It’s early enough that Nile won’t wake up from it but late enough that Andy is probably already up and will only grumble at them for being saps rather than for waking her.

“Dance with me, my love?” Joe asks softly, turning in the circle of Nicky’s arms and smiling at him. Nicky’s smile is enough of an answer, as is the way Nicky keeps one arm looped around Joe and brings the other up to curl his fist in Joe’s sweater. He drops his forehead to Joe’s shoulder and sways slightly, not yet awake enough to coordinate more of an effort than that. Joe laughs a little, a soft fond thing, and moves them away from the counter so they can sway to the music without bumping their hips against it every time. 

They’re sharp as anything when they’ve first woken up, but only when they need to be. When given the chance, mornings are like syrup, slow and sweet and languid. They’ll think about breakfast soon, but for now, it is enough just to hold each other and bask in the knowledge that they have nowhere to be and the rain will keep them inside and cozy all day.

Joe is humming along to the music now, the jazz era had been good to them and he remembers it fondly. If he thinks too hard, his chest will ache with missing Booker and Quynh, but like this, with Nicky so sleep warm and present in his arms, he can take comfort in this small thing. 

Andy does groans a little when she walks into the kitchen to find them slow dancing in their pyjamas, coffee entirely forgotten. Nicky just smiles against Joe’s shoulder though, Andy has walked in on far worse, and he’s too comfortable to move. He can feel Joe burying his own smile against his hair. 

“I’m not leaving you fuckers any coffee,” Andy grouches and sits down at the kitchen table with a huffy thunk. That’s enough to prompt Nicky pulling away from Joe and protesting vehemently. He insists that he cannot function without coffee, has ever since they first discovered the drink back in the fifteenth century.

As Nicky pleads with Andy, who will inevitably cave to his pouting - she always does - Joe leans back against the counter and smiles fondly, heart so full of love for his little family and the things they hold on to.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @wandering-scholar-lad if you want to come yell at me about these gentle nerds and casual intimacy


End file.
